


carve your name (into my bedpost)

by starsandgutters



Category: Dreamer Trilogy - Maggie Stiefvater, Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: (an eye-watering amount of fluff), (but like... tastefully described smut), CDTH sampler, Fluff, I know it's canon but like. it's just embarrassing honestly, M/M, Missing Scene, Smut, barely. the answer is barely., how do they function around each other?, warning for neither adam nor ronan having any chill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-04-24 01:36:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19163137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsandgutters/pseuds/starsandgutters
Summary: Adam Parrish andwanthad a complicated relationship.So when Ronan sprang the news on him out of nowhere -I’m looking at apartments. Tomorrow.- like it was nothing, as if he hadn’t just tilted Adam’s world off its axis - Adam found himself almost bowled over by the intensity of the longing eating him up.





	carve your name (into my bedpost)

**Author's Note:**

> Well, friends, it's been a while... but the CDTH sampler was released and my heart was immediately thrown into shambles again over these two. How am I going to survive until November? Stay tuned to find out.
> 
> Anyway, being your friendly neighborhood Adam enthusiast, I thought it was only appropriate that I fill in some of the narrative gaps in the sampler by giving Adam his own little POV chapter. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Title and additional lyrics from Taylor Swift's ["Dress"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G_GneCw-IoA).

_There is an indentation in the shape of you:_  
_Made your mark on me, a golden tattoo._  
_All of this silence and patience, pining and anticipation–_  
_My hands are shaking from holding back from you._  
_All of this silence and patience, pining and desperately waiting–  
_ _My hands are shaking from all this._

 

\---

 

Adam Parrish and _want_ had a complicated relationship.

Need, he was familiar with. Adam couldn’t really remember a time when he wasn’t in need of something: food on the table, a way to get his mother to engage with him, a new school uniform, a way to escape his father’s ever-present anger, a few more hours of sleep, a way to save Gansey, grades good enough to get him into an Ivy, a way to save Ronan. The hardest thing of all to need, Adam found, was other people.

When you were fighting tooth and nail to stay afloat, stay awake, stay alive, _wanting_ seemed like an unnecessary luxury. It was only in the relatively recent past that Adam had allowed himself to properly want things, and to some extent, believe he deserved them. And perhaps because he had so rarely allowed himself to want, he was still not used to how all-consuming it could feel.

So when Ronan sprang the news on him out of nowhere - _I’m looking at apartments. Tomorrow._ \- like it was nothing, as if he hadn’t just tilted Adam’s world off its axis - Adam found himself almost bowled over by the intensity of the longing eating him up.

Ronan might be moving. To Cambridge.For _him_.

Ronan might not move, he tried to amend in his head, trying not to get his hopes up; but he _wanted_ to. For him.

Adam remembered asking him, the day before he’d left for Harvard. It was late at night, and night always seemed to make him both braver and more afraid. He’d been packing - what little he had to pack - and Ronan was watching him pack, leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed, and all of a sudden Adam couldn’t take it. 

 _Is there any version of you that could come with me to Cambridge?_ he’d blurted out, feeling foolish and selfish, naive and greedy. He told himself he was trying for casually enquiring, but he knew all too well he was veering closer to pleading.

 _Maybe,_ Ronan had said, with that thoughtfulness that he sometimes had about him nowadays. That more deliberate Ronan, the Ronan who was growing up. _Maybe._

Adam had never really let himself believe it might happen. In everything except his career, he liked to keep his expectations low. And now that it seemed it might actually happen, he found that his brain was starting to work frantically, whirring, spinning out all the possible reasons why this could potentially be a terrible idea.

“How would that work?”

“I can control it.” Ronan sounded certain. But Ronan _liked_ to sound certain. Unconcerned. It was an old trick of his, pretending that he was completely in control and nothing in the world could bother him, and Adam had never been the type to let it go unchallenged.

“ _Can_ you?”

Ronan looked almost outraged by the comeback. _Doubting Thomas_. He’d called Adam that before. “I stay at Declan’s all the time.”

Adam was not entirely convinced, but he let it go. There was something else he was concerned about, something far more terrifying than Ronan bringing back stuff from his dreams.

“And what about your face? The… nightwash. What about that?”

Adam remembered it like it was yesterday, his brain replaying the memory over and over in his mind’s eye: black ooze pouring out of Ronan’s nose, bleeding from his eyes, lining his teeth. Drowning him from the inside. He remembered the sheer horror that he’d felt, watching the boy he loved drip black onto the summer-dried Virginia grass; remembered thinking _he’s dying, Ronan’s dying and there’s nothing I can do to stop it._ He remembered how even then, Ronan had been dead-set on him leaving for college despite Ronan’s impending death - as if Adam could leave, as if Adam _would_ \- stomping out to clean out his car with a look of stony determination on his face.

He was wearing the same determined look now. “I’ll go out of town every weekend to dream. I’ll find someplace safe.”

That sounded plausible, Adam thought. It sounded _reasonable_ , he thought. But it couldn’t be that easy, certainly. Historically, the universe didn’t like for Adam Parrish to have it easy. He bit his lip, casting for objections that might make the possibility of Ronan moving less credible.

“What about...”

He came up short. He couldn’t think of anything. The part of his brain that was devoted to contingency planning, to mapping out options, using carefully calculated data to predict the likeliest outcomes, had turned off. His facial muscles were doing complicated things as he tried to fight the bubble of hope that kept rising up in his chest.

“What’s the face for?” Ronan asked.

And that was the problem: Adam couldn’t think of any more reasons why it couldn’t work because he _wanted_ it to work: desperately, unreasonably, absolutely. Almost one year of having Ronan, and then two months of not having him, and he was a man gasping for air. He didn’t have it in him to put up a front anymore.

“I want it too much,” Adam admitted, feeling stupid and vulnerable and needy; but it was worth it for the way Ronan’s entire face relaxed, his smile growing slowly like the sun emerging from a cloud, and just as radiant.

“It’ll work,” Ronan said. “It’ll work.”

And despite a lifetime of things not being easy - despite what experience and wisdom would suggest - Adam believed him.

He could feel a grin tugging at his lips unbidden, in response to Ronan’s, and he let it bloom, feeling giddy and volatile and invincible. Suddenly, it seemed unacceptable that they were not touching. Hooking his fingers in the collar of Ronan’s black henley, Adam tugged him closer, catching his lips in a quick, breathless kiss. Ronan released a soft, surprised sound into his mouth, then his hands slid up Adam’s forearms, pulling him in by the elbows, turning the kiss deeper, more lingering.

As they parted for air, Adam couldn’t resist playfully catching Ronan’s bottom lip between his teeth, sucking on it lightly before releasing it with a soft _pop_. Ronan inhaled sharply, from his nose, and that punched a short, breathy laugh out of Adam. This was the effect Ronan had on him: he felt electric, awake, like anything could happen.

Right now, though, there was only one thing he wanted to happen.

Pressing his palms to Ronan’s chest, he pushed him gently backwards. “Bed,” he ordered, because full sentences seemed like a waste of time when they could be kissing instead.

“God, you’re so damn bossy,” Ronan snorted, which was somewhat belied by him backing up towards the bed so quickly it hit the back of his knees and he fell down to sit on it.

“Problem, Lynch?” Adam asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No sir,” Ronan replied with a devilish smirk – and Adam knew, he _knew_ he was being teased, but that did nothing to stop the hot flush rising into his cheek at the words. He didn’t have time to be flustered, though, because suddenly Ronan was taking off his henley, and – _oh._ Oh, there he was. All of him, well-muscled chest and tattoo sneaking over the edge of his broad shoulders.

Adam felt a little dazed as his hands found his way to his vest, fumbling the buttons uncharacteristically, unwilling as he was to tear his eyes off Ronan.

Ronan seemed to notice this - the bastard - and he let out a huff of laughter even as he puffed up a little. He was flexing ever so slightly, Adam was sure of it.

“Here, let me–” Ronan batted his hands away, and Adam let him, his eyes still glued on him as he made quick work of the buttons. “By the way, this vest is _embarrassing_ , Parrish. I can’t be seen hanging out with you when you’re wearing this. Tweed? Really? Are you sure you’re not Malory in disguise?”

Adam narrowed his eyes. “If I am, what does it say about you that you’re undressing me?”

“I’ve got daddy issues. I thought that was well-established.”  
  
Adam scoffed. He was used to Ronan’s teasing, and he was usually more than happy to tease him right back, but after not seeing him for so long, tonight he felt a little unsteady, unsure how to respond.

“Hey,” Ronan said, tugging on his shirt, and he realized his mind had wandered; Ronan had undone his shirt buttons as well. “Parrish, I’m kidding. You look good,” he said, as if he had sensed Adam’s light discomfort. “You look real damn good.”

Adam’s heart was a wild thing in his chest. He swallowed. “You too,” he said, softly. Then he shrugged off vest and shirt at once, and was rewarded with an audible hitch in Ronan’s breathing. It brought a small smile to his lips, knowing he wasn’t the only unsteady one.

He placed his hands on Ronan’s shoulders, allowing himself to just savour the sensation for a few moments, running them along the slope leading to Ronan’s neck and back, imagining he could feel the tattoo curling against his hands.

Then he gently pushed Ronan backwards onto the bed, coming to kneel on it himself. It was too much and not enough – it was intolerable that all of them wasn’t touching already, skin to skin, but it was also a little overwhelming to be faced with the sight of Ronan on his back looking up at him, spread out like a feast Adam could never get enough of.

“How long has it been?” he murmured, before he could stop himself. Which was ridiculous, because he knew exactly how long it had been: 67 days and 15 hours. 67 days since the time Ronan had shown up in the middle of a Saturday morning, like a vision. Adam would never admit it, but adjusting to college was proving a little overwhelming, and he almost cried when he saw Ronan stalk onto campus as if he owned it, impossible and out of place in his black tank top and leather jacket. It seemed like a small miracle, which was only fair, because Adam knew better than most that miracles were Ronan’s daily bread.

“Too fucking long,” the Ronan under him growled, before hooking an arm around his neck and pulling him in for a hungry kiss.

And just like that, they were off: hands roving over chests, mouths tasting necks, two pairs of pants being hastily discarded – brown slacks pooled on the floor, black stonewashed jeans thrown over the bedside lamp.

Adam felt light-chested and heavy-lidded, kissing a line down Ronan’s chin and along the column of his neck, paying special attention to the dip between his collarbones. “God, Ronan, I _really_ missed you,” he groaned into his skin.

“I can see that,” Ronan half breathed, half laughed, the sound thin and barely controlled. “Me too. I mean– I missed–”

“I know,” Adam reassured him. Then he closed his lips on Ronan’s right nipple, which never failed to shut Ronan up.

Adam kept kissing his way down Ronan’s chest, his stomach, until he got to where he wanted to be. He rested his hands on Ronan’s toned thighs and looked up at him, the question clear in his eyes. No matter how many times they did this, it always felt so impossible that he could have this– that he would be allowed this– that he just had to make sure.

Ronan looked down at him, blinking as if he’d been clobbered over the head.

“Jesus _Christ_ , Adam, if you don’t get on with it I might actually _die_ –”

Adam couldn’t escape the surprised laugh that burst out of him. In some way, seeing Ronan out of control helped _him_ feel a little steadier. He _tsk_ ’d, arching one eyebrow as he smirked up at Ronan. “Well, we can’t have that, can we?”, he teased. Then he put his mouth to better use.

If there was one lesson Adam had found was true for nearly everything in his life, it was this: if he practiced hard enough, he could get the hang of most skills. This didn’t seem to be any different, and it helped that he really enjoyed practicing. Over the course of the summer, he had learned the ins and outs of what made Ronan tick, and what the fastest way was to take him apart with lips and tongue and hands. And _because_ Adam was an overachiever, he didn’t hesitate to pull out all those tricks now, steadily building up the pace until Ronan was squirming and panting under him, one hand curled loosely in his hair as the other fisted in the sheets spasmodically. It wasn’t long before he could feel the telltale quiver in Ronan’s thigh against his cheek, and then–

\--and then Ronan’s hand tightened in his hair and a brisk tugging caused him to look up and meet Ronan’s gaze. He looked positively unraveled, his eyes bright and his cheeks burning. Adam was sure he didn’t look much different, and he could feel his hair sticking up in a dozen directions from Ronan’s fingers carding through it. He raised his eyebrows in an unspoken question.

“Adam– Adam, stop,” Ronan gasped. “I’m close–”

“I’m aware” Adam replied, matter-of-factly. He failed to see the problem. But Ronan was pushing at his shoulders insistently, so he relented and untangled himself from Ronan’s long legs, moving up the bed to plant a kiss on his mouth instead.

No sooner had he got there, though, that Ronan had flipped them in one fluid motion - Adam couldn’t even _pretend_ he didn’t find that hot – and was now using his vantage position to pepper feverish kisses on Adam’s face, everywhere he could reach – his cheekbone, his nose, the corner of his mouth, the stubble at his jawline. Adam thought his wires must be a little crossed, because as much as having the hard, long line of Ronan’s body pressed against his set his skin on fire, his chest hurt with the tenderness of it. He thought, sometimes, he could just do this forever– lying down in bed and letting Ronan map his face with his lips. He would never need anything else again. He might die, but he’d die happy.

Ronan had other plans, though. He tangled his fingers with Adam’s, and brought their joined hands up above Adam’s head as he made his way down. He kissed aimlessly around Adam’s chest and along his ribs for a while, but it soon became apparent that he had another direction in mind.

Adam lifted his head with some effort. “Ronan, what are you–?”

Ronan waggled his eyebrows at him, somehow managing to look both ridiculous and savagely attractive at the same time. It really wasn’t fair. “What’s it look like, Parrish?”

Adam frowned slightly. “But you didn’t–” He stopped, finding no point in stating the obvious. “Are you sure?”

“When have you ever known me to do anything but what I want?”

Quite a few times, in fact; surprisingly more often than Adam would have guessed. But he let Ronan have his fiction, allowing his head to fall back against the mattress. Besides, it wasn’t the first time something like this happened. When it came to sex, as in most other things, Adam was a man on a mission, intent on achieving his goal – taking Ronan apart – before setting on to the next task. But Ronan, ever the artist, ever temperamental, was no stranger to pausing in the middle of something and changing tracks without warning, becoming fixated on something else –Adam’s left earlobe, or his right wrist – even if it meant delaying his own pleasure. Adam wondered if it had something to do with Catholic guilt–

And then Ronan wrapped his mouth around him, and Adam stopped thinking altogether.

After that, there was just this: Adam breathing hard, feeling like his lungs were about to collapse inside his chest; Adam running erratic fingers along Ronan’s scalp trying to find purchase and failing, and digging into Ronan’s inked shoulder instead; Adam planting his feet in the sheets as he desperately tried not to buck his hips.

Ronan, it turned out, gave head like he did everything else: with a technique that could only be described as chaotic, and enough burning passion to start a forest fire. It worked for Adam, at any rate – everything about Ronan did. As if to prove this, an embarrassing sound tore out of his mouth that could only be described as an honest-to-God _moan,_ and he immediately shoved two knuckles into his mouth. Harvard dorms might be fancy, but the walls were still way too thin.

Curiously, the thought of the two of them being overheard did a strange, twisty thing to his stomach that was definitely not embarrassment. He could tell it wouldn’t take much now – it _had_ been too damn long.

His left hand was still entwined with Ronan’s; he squeezed it once, then again, harder. Ronan looked up, and that sight alone was almost enough to push him over the edge: Ronan’s eyes were the colour of ice, but his pupils were dark, molten hot; his skin glowing, flushed; his lips, red and kiss-bruised, still around him. “God,” Adam choked out, “ _Fuck._ Ronan, you’re-” he shut his eyes, swallowed hard. There was no time for poetry. “I’m almost–”

That was all Ronan needed to hear, it seemed. He let his eyes flutter closed – long, dark eyelashes splayed out over his pale skin – God, _God,_ he was so fucking beautiful – and redoubled his efforts.

A few seconds - hours? Years? - later, Adam was arching off the sheets. He wasn’t sure if he’d made a noise - he thought he must have - but his brain was all fuzzy static and his vision had whited out a little, so he couldn’t be sure. The next thing he knew, he was lying against the sheets, blinking dazedly, and Ronan was making his way back up to him, running the back of his hand across his mouth in a casual way that nearly undid Adam all over again.

Instead, he held out his arms to him and pulled him close impatiently, kissing him deep and messy and open-mouthed.

“God, Ronan, you’re so hot, you’re so damn _hot_ –” he rambled, kissing the words against Ronan’s jaw. As if to punctuate that point, he suddenly became aware of Ronan pressing into his thigh, still hard and wanting.

“Oh,” he exhaled. “D’you need– do you want–” it was hard to string together logical sentences. Ronan seemed to be in the same boat, his thinly-held control crumbling and leaving him shaking against Adam, something feral in his blown-wide eyes.

“ _Adam,”_ he moaned. Then he grasped around for his hands, found one, brought it to his lips. “Please,” he breathed, leaving a wet, worshipful kiss on his index knuckle. “Please–”

That was all he needed to say. By now, Adam was aware of Ronan’s fascination with his hands; he didn’t fully understand it, but that didn’t matter. If Ronan liked his hands, Ronan was welcome to them in any way he liked. Adam was always up for finding creative ways to use them on him, and he used Ronan’s dreamt hand lotion religiously, partly because it smelled like him– like home– and partly because it gave him a small, private thrill to think there was something about him that _Ronan_ , impossibly handsome Ronan, found distracting enough to dream him up specific moisturising products.

Now, Adam let his hands stray down, one of them mapping the shape of Ronan’s back lightly, following along the lines of his tattoo (he didn’t need to see them to trace them anymore; he knew them by heart), counting the knobs of his spine, trailing the swell of his ass. His right hand had a more purposeful path, and the moment he wrapped his fingers around him, Ronan released an almost pained hiss into the crook of his neck.

It didn’t take long after that; Adam _was_ rather good with his hands, if he said so himself, and he’d had months to figure out what Ronan liked best, how to make him feel good. Again, that rush of tenderness invaded his chest; he didn’t know if it was normal, to feel this soft, almost aching affection in the middle of sex, but he didn’t care: he pulled Ronan closer to him as he worked him, trailing his lips along his cheek, more whisper than kiss, breath warm against Ronan’s ear in the way Adam knew unravelled him. Moments later, Ronan convulsed against him, choking out a sob against Adam’s neck as he shuddered his release.

Adam found himself making nonsense soothing sounds as he held him through the aftershocks, one hand cupped to the back of his head protectively. They lay like that for a long time, limbs tangled together, sweat cooling on their overheated skin, until their breathing slowed down and their heartbeats matched each other’s. It was peace. It was safe. It was home.

Eventually, Adam poked Ronan in the ribs. “Come on, Lynch. You’re heavy.”

Ronan lifted his head, looking at him haughtily from under lowered lashes: “Are you calling me _fat_ , Parrish?”

Adam rolled his eyes. “I’ll call you anything, if it gets me the use of my limbs again.”

Ronan rolled off of him with an amused grunt, but then immediately pulled him close again, so they were lying side by side now.

Adam settled into the flank of Ronan’s body, wondering idly at how well they seemed to fit together, then immediately frowned at himself for thinking something that sappy. It didn’t stop him from resting his head on Ronan’s chest, though; ear pressed over his heartbeat. It was his good ear, but that was okay; this close, he’d almost feel Ronan’s words before hearing them, anyway.

They lay like that for a while longer, exchanging the occasional lazy kiss; Adam’s arm thrown over Ronan’s chest, Ronan’s hand carding through Adam’s damp hair.

It seemed unreal to have Ronan here; even more unreal that Ronan might be here a lot more often, if everything went well tomorrow. Adam could feel the unrest stirring up in his chest, the excitement as dangerous to him as it always was; if he didn’t keep himself in check, he’d be spiralling before Ronan had even decided whether he actually wanted to move.

He forced himself to calm down, closing his eyes and taking deep breaths. This close, all he could smell was Ronan, sweat and electricity and dream-magic clinging to him like expensive cologne. _Breathe in, breathe out._ Ronan smelled like the embers in a fire pit, like the freshly cut grass Opal liked to cavort around in, like Cabeswater. He smelled like the rich, dark Virginia soil that had shaped them both; Adam could still feel the Henrietta dirt sticking to him sometimes, but with less resentment than he used to, which felt to him like a miracle in itself.

For one single, brief, staggering moment, Adam felt a pang of longing for the countryside he’d left behind, for summers spent exploring magical forests with Ronan and Gansey and Blue and Noah, for pizza at Nino’s and gelato at Harry’s.

As if he could read Adam’s mind, “Do you ever miss it?” Ronan asked. “Home,” he added, quietly, by way of clarification.

Adam did not know how to answer that question correctly.

 _No. Yes. Never. Maybe_. Of course he missed it _sometimes_ \- but then, he even missed his parents sometimes - rarely, and never for more than one sickening second before the sensation vanished, like the unpleasant prickling of a phantom limb; the mere _memory_ of homesickness.

The dirt roads and lush countryside of Virginia had raised him, for better or worse. And it wasn’t _all_ bad - it wasn’t only his unloving family, or the fear and loneliness, or the bone-deep exhaustion. There was friendship, too, and magic. There was knowing and being known, and an endless year at the Barns, losing himself in happiness, losing himself in Ronan.

But it did not mean he wanted to go back. As fiercely as he missed Ronan, as much as the last summer had been an oasis of uncomplicated joy after a complicated year, Adam loved his present ferociously: the brick-red buildings, the breathtaking fall foliage around campus, the knowledge at his fingertips in the shape of overstocked college libraries, the comfort of making friends in all his classes without worrying about what they would say about his strangeness or his sexuality or his second-hand clothes or the fact he was on a scholarship, the promise of a shining future. It was everything he’d fought for all his life, and he was never going to let it go.

Somehow, he was afraid that admitting even the slightest bit of weakness would expose him as a fake and snatch it all away from him, or that his resolve would weaken in the face of Ronan’s warm skin and intense eyes.

Yes, he missed home sometimes; no, he was never going back. Ronan was all the home he needed.

“They _really_ don’t know how to make good iced tea here,” he settled on, with a crooked smile.

Ronan raised one eyebrow, smirking. “Oh? Without Sargent’s spit in it, you mean?”

Adam laughed, relief flooding his chest. “Exactly,” he said, dropping a kiss on Ronan’s chest. “That is precisely what I meant.”

“Well, we can’t have that. You gotta ask her to come around and spread her midget girl germs all around the state.”  
  
“Girls don’t have _germs_ , Ronan.”

“Of course not. They have cooties. Everybody knows that.”

Adam snorted. “You’re such an ass.”

“Yeah, but you love it.”  
  
“Correction: I love your ass. That’s not the same thing.”

“Why, Parrish, you _dog,_ ” Ronan gasped, looking absurdly pleased and pinching Adam’s side.

They settled back into a comfortable silence, but soon Adam found his thoughts straying again.

He nudged his chin into Ronan’s shoulder. “When are your viewings tomorrow?”

Ronan hummed. “One at 11. The other two in the afternoon. Why? Thinking of coming along?”

Adam felt a little defensive, suddenly. “You offered. Change your mind already?”

“No, I just– didn’t think you’d actually have time to.”

Adam rolled his eyes. “My boyfriend comes to visit for the first time in two months, you think I’m not gonna take a day off?”

Ronan directed a skeptical glare at him. “You and days off haven’t exactly been on the best of terms, historically.”

Adam scoffed. “Just because I have a good work ethic–”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Ronan cut him off with a quick kiss. “So, 11 o’clock, downtown. Declan and Matthew will be there. Declan is dating his phone now, I think, so don’t expect much conversation from him. Matthew will probably squeeze the life out of you though.”

Adam chuckled. He was glad that Matthew liked him, though it wasn’t really saying much, because Matthew liked everybody. Adam wasn’t sure if he was even built to experience dislike.

“I can’t wait,” he said. He meant it about more than just Matthew.

“Yeah?” Ronan asked. Adam was surprised to hear the same insecurity in his voice that he’d felt a moment ago.

“ _Yes.”_ He made sure to stare Ronan in the eye as he said it, putting as much conviction in it as he could. He knew, though Ronan would never say it out loud, that he was afraid he would not fit in in Adam’s new life; that there would be no place for him. Adam didn’t know how to explain to him that there would always be a place for him, because he had carved a Ronan-shaped hole inside Adam’s life, and Adam didn’t know if he’d ever be whole without him again.

Instead, he said the only thing he could say: “Of course I want you here. I love you.”

And he did, with an intensity that knocked the breath out of him sometimes. He knew love was a privilege; he knew he was lucky to have this, to have Ronan. Maybe that’s why he found himself forging forward, though he’d never meant to: “I’m sorry about the lying. Or– I’m not, I guess, but– I’m sorry you had to see that. I just–” he didn’t know where he was going with it. He couldn’t talk about this without his voice breaking and his eyes stinging. He just wanted a fresh start, he just wanted to not be that trailer trash kid who doubled as a punching-ball for his dad, he just wanted to be _good enough._ But part of that was a desire to be good enough for _Ronan_ – Ronan, who despised dishonesty. Softly, he added: “I know you hate it. I just–”

Ronan cupped a hand against his mouth, shaking his head. “Adam. No. It doesn’t matter.”

Adam peeled the hand off. “But it does to _you_ ,” he protested.

Ronan shrugged. “But it’s not my choice. It’s your life. Your friends. It’s not like I was always completely forthcoming with you guys. I shouldn’t have given you shit for it. I’m sorry.”

Oh. There it was– his eyes were stinging after all. But instead of that knot of shame in his chest, it was gratefulness, and once again that feeling of being safe.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

“Nothing to thank me for,” Ronan replied without missing a beat, and Adam could see he meant it. He closed his eyes and let Ronan press a kiss to his forehead.

“I love you,” Ronan murmured against it, almost too soft to hear– but not quite. Adam would never get used to it. He would never get enough of it. His heart skipped a beat, and he buried his head in Ronan’s shoulder, waiting for it to steady. Moments stretched into minutes. He felt so calm, so utterly quiet inside.

“Adam?”

“Mmm?”

“You’re about a second away from falling asleep, aren’t you?”

“I’m not,” Adam protested automatically, and immediately stifled a yawn against Ronan’s skin.

“Right. Off to sleep with you, Einstein. Tomorrow your yeehaw boyfriend is taking you to _brunch._ Like we’re two fancy Massholes.”

Adam looked up, startled. “Two fancy _what_?”

Ronan huffed laughter. “It’s Declan’s word. Nevermind. Go to sleep.”

Adam was more than happy to comply, the exhaustion of the day catching up with him. He rolled onto his stomach, making sure to tangle his hand with Ronan’s as he did so, wrists pressed together so he could feel his pulse as he drifted off. Ronan’s thumb idly stroked the back of his hand.

In his last moments of consciousness before sleep took him over, Adam was sure he’d wake the next morning more rested than he’d been in ages.

 

–--

_And I woke up just in time;_  
_Now I wake up by your side:_  
_My one and only, my lifeline._  


**Author's Note:**

> ~~...and then, murder crabs~~
> 
>  
> 
> Gosh. Haven't written fic since last July, and as it turns out, I really missed these nerds. Sorry if this was rusty, and please be lenient - I've never written these two being intimate before, but now that it's actually canon, I thought it was high time I tried. ;)
> 
> Also: does the Dreamer Trilogy fandom tag work yet? I had to input it manually so if it means this is the first work posted for it... I'm both sorry and proud, lol.
> 
> If you enjoyed this, come say hi on [Tumblr](https://starsandgutters.co.vu/) and/or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/bisexualmage)! :)


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